The Closeness of the Shave
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: The French Mistake tag: He knew Dean was up to something, but even Sam didn't see this one coming.


_I'm sorry this took so long to post; I hope to do better next time. -KHK_

**The Closeness of the Shave**  
K Hanna Korossy

There is no time in Hell. Time implies progression, cycles, mileposts of light and dark, rest and activity. Time means an eventual ending. Hope.

There is no hope in Hell.

There is only anguish and agony and panic and insanity. No identity, no possibility of rational thought or distraction. It always is, was, and will be _Hell_; there is no lessening as your body and mind weaken and drift and become inured, because the soul is also eternal. It just goes on forever and ev—

He gasped, drawing breath into seared lungs, opening eyes wide to blindingly brilliant light. He recoiled.

Another breath, and the heat and brightness faded. Shapes swam into view—faces, they were faces. He started to feel his body again: rigid, shaking, out of control but his.

He was—is—Sam.

And there were voices and hands on him, a room around him. Dean, and Bobby, filled his frame of vision, brows puckered, mouths moving.

"—m, you hear me? Sammy!"

"'M…" He tried to wet his lips, took a bite of them instead. "'M here…yeah. Got it. M'here?"

The two men above him exchanged a look Sam didn't even try to decipher. He focused on relaxing the spastic curl of his body.

"Easy, you hit the deck pretty hard."

There was a hand between his aching head and the floor. Even as Sam registered it, Dean eased it out, palming away the streams of wetness from his eyes he also hadn't noticed. He'd hit his head? "Crack," Sam murmured.

"Wall's not cracked," Dean said firmly. "Just…leaked a little."

That hadn't been what…he wasn't sure what he'd been thinking. It was still hard to put together anything beyond _tired _and _huh? _and _ow. _Sam hummed vaguely.

"Bed?" Not Dean's voice.

"Oh yeah." Dean. "Gonna sit you up, dude—if you're gonna hurl or pass out, let me know, okay?"

He tried to scowl at Dean, doubtful if he succeeded. It didn't make a difference: hands hooked under his arms and pulled him dizzyingly upward.

He wanted to protest but couldn't think of the words to say. The mutter came out of his mouth just as garbled.

"Okay. Okay, Sammy, just take it easy. Let me and Bobby do the work."

There was movement, the wobble and tilt of passing scenery. He closed his eyes, pressed his forehead into…some nearby part of his brother to try to ground himself. The hand was back on the crown of his head, and it helped.

"You're good, stomach's settling down." And so it was. "Gonna get you upstairs and vertical and you'll sleep it off." Pause. "What were you thinking about? You weren't trying to…remember, were you?"

Thinking? It was like trying to push his way through sludge. He didn't even remember what he was doing…except… There was a broken window. Rain? He and Dean and Bobby, trying to…to fix it, keep the rain out. He remembered…dragging Bobby past the window. Going to…kill him?

The memory was like a spike through his already sore brain, and he groaned.

"Hey, okay, no remembering, _anything_, okay? Just lift your foot, kiddo."

He was pretty sure he was climbing stairs. And then he wasn't and the mattress was really soft and the blanket soothed his remaining shivers, and he mercifully blacked out.

00000

It took him a moment to realize the distant bark of a dog had woken him.

Or that he was even awake, the room shadowy with the fading light of dusk. Sam knew where he was just from the feel of the bed and the smell of the blankets: Bobby's.

The _why_ took a little more work.

He shifted experimentally, feeling vague aches but no injuries to account for the daytime nap. Or the tin cup of water and opened bottle of painkillers waiting on the nightstand. Dean's version of a baby monitor: the rattle of the pills would have him at the door within ten seconds no matter where he was in the house.

Sam skipped the announcement that he was up, and shut his eyes, trying to think.

They'd been fixing the window, the one Balthazar had thrown them through. Joking around about the alternate actor world. And then… He was towing Bobby past the window? Sam grimaced, squeezing the bridge of his nose as he tried to sort it out. No, that wasn't right. He'd remembered that, from…when he hadn't had his soul, something from behind the wall.

No wonder Dean had been so freaked. From the way Sam's body ached, he'd probably had another seizure, too.

The dip into Hell licked at the edges of his memory, thankfully blurred except for the despair. Sam turned away from it, mentally and physically, no longer interested in recalling anything.

The door came into view, cracked open to the lit hallway. Sam realized there was a murmur of voices beyond, tight and worried.

He should say something.

He slid back into sleep before he could open his mouth.

00000

Dean was there when he woke again. His brother was unshaven and red-eyed, but he smiled when Sam peered at him.

Hazy but content, Sam let himself be led off to the bathroom and drank down a cup of water, then hugged the pillow back to himself and dozed off again.

He had no idea how much time had gone by before he finally woke to sunshine and bird chatter. His body felt like it'd forgiven him, lazy and sated, and Sam stretched to the ceiling and yawned widely before he emptied his bladder of half his body weight and wandered downstairs for food.

Bobby and Dean were talking about something in the kitchen, sounding low and intense. Sam had a flash of memory of waking to the sound of a similar conversation at least once, but he was avoiding memories just now. Besides, his brain was set on _hungry. _

Didn't mean he didn't notice how the conversation cut out instantly when he stepped on that squeaky board outside the kitchen door.

"Well, look who showed up." Dean was already on his feet, giving him a critical once-over even as he headed to the stove and a covered pan there that Sam fervently hoped contained eggs and bacon. "You doing okay, Sammy?"

"Head still feels couple sizes too big, but…" Sam flopped into his brother's vacated chair, raised a hand and dropped it in his lap again. "Mostly just hungry."

"_That_ I can fix."

He didn't have time to consider Dean's phrasing before the pan was in front of him, lid lifted with a flourish, and he forgot anything but _mmm. _Eggs and bacon and country ham and _pancakes_: he had the best brother ever. He didn't even wait for the fork Dean shoved into his hand, already grabbing a strip of bacon to cram into his mouth.

He heard Bobby chuckle. "Reminds me of when you were a kid, Dean. Scratch that, reminds me of you the other day."

Sam ignored him, moaning his appreciation of pancakes that were still fluffy and warm.

"Pretty sure I never enjoyed your pancakes that much, Bobby," Dean answered, sounding either impressed or disgusted, or both.

"Might want to get some toast out before he eats the pan, too," Bobby said cheerfully.

Sam lifted one finger, if not his face.

He finished the ham and the bacon before he glanced up, suddenly realizing he was the main attraction for the two other men. "Uh…good food?"

"Dude, I think I could've put your old sneakers on the table and you would've scarfed them up."

"I was hungry," Sam said defensively, but slowed himself to a more sedate pace with the eggs and toast. "How long was I out?"

The amusement drained from Dean and Bobby's face as they exchanged a look. "Flashback-out? 'Bout a minute, little longer than last time." Dean's jaw jumped. "Sleeping-out, almost two days. And you still look like crap." The joke was flatter than his eyes.

"Oh."

"Yeah," Bobby echoed Sam dryly. "Oh."

Sam started to take another bite, realized he felt more than full, and nudged the plate away. He stole Dean's mug of coffee for a sip, earning himself a heatless glare. "So, what were you two talking about before?

"Before?" Dean said, and rose to fetch Sam his own mug.

"Yeah, before I came in." Sam yawned, smoothing the hair out of his face with both hands. "Sounded serious."

"Key of Solomon got some water damage," Bobby spoke up. Maybe a little too quickly. "Got a bookbinder I know who could fix it, but…"

"…but it's the Key of Solomon," Sam finished. He flashed his brother a thankful grin at the coffee that was slid under his nose, saw Dean's mouth twitch in answer. "Sorry again 'bout that, Bobby."

The older man grunted. "Not like you two _asked_ Balthazar to toss you through the window."

"I told Bobby you'd take a look at the book," Dean put in.

"Yeah, sure. Anything else get damaged?"

And Sam let himself be diverted.

00000

The research took him a little longer to pick up on. Maybe because Dean doing something furtively on the computer was neither unusual nor something Sam normally had any desire to look into. But it wasn't just the laptop Dean would quickly abandon when Sam appeared. Quiet phone conversations were cut short, discussions with Bobby were dropped, not to mention the significant looks his brother seemed to regularly exchange with the older man.

Those first few days, Sam was still trying to get his head back on straight and go for more than an hour without sleeping. But once he'd recovered and was more certain than ever that something was actually going on, he quit prevaricating.

It was a phone call that Bobby ended as soon as Sam came into the study that finally sent him looking for his brother.

Dean was just pulling up in front of the house, back from a mystery errand he'd refused to take Sam along on. His grin of greeting shuttered with wariness once he saw Sam's expression.

"Bobby wash your delicates with his shop towels again?"

"Where were you?" Sam kept the high ground on the house porch, although he hadn't had to look up at Dean since college.

Dean's eyebrow rose as he closed his door and circled the front of the car. "I told you," he said slowly, "I went into town to take care of a few things."

Sam crossed his arms. "Like?"

The second eyebrow joined the first. "Seriously? Dude, you're not my wife." Dean started to edge past Sam to go into the house.

Wrong move. Sam bounced him back with a shift of the hips, impervious to Dean's rising incredulity and temper. "What was so secret I couldn't come along? For that matter, what's the secret that you can discuss with Bobby, and-and whoever you keep talking to on the phone, but not me?" He lost some of his steam, a twist of ugly uncertainty in his belly. "Is this about something soulless-me did? Because, man, you can tell me if it is. I don't know if I can fix it, but I—"

Dean's eyes had been widening, but he finally burst out, "What? No! Dude, that's not what…" He searched Sam's face, sighing at what he found, eyes dropping to the ground as he kicked at a rock. "That's not what this is about, okay? It's not about…trusting you, or fixing your mistakes." He looked out into the yard, grimacing. "I've been talking to a real estate agent, all right?"

Sam blinked. "Come again?"

Dean's gazed honed on him: he was going all in. "A real estate agent, Sam. Pink Caddy, beehive hair, the works. She's been, uh…" He twitched. "…looking for a house for me."

That took a few seconds to process, never being words Sam thought he would hear from his brother. "For…Lisa?" he finally ventured.

"No, moron, for you." Dean's arms went out to his side, flapped back down. "Well, for us, long as we both want it that way. Picket fence, real kitchen, the whole deal." The words were certain, but he looked oddly…hunted.

Nope, it wasn't processing no matter how much he tried. "I don't get it," Sam finally admitted.

"This life, Sam." Dean took a step forward, voice dropping urgently. "It's killing you. I don't know how many more of those little Hell-cations your mind can take, but can't be too many. This, what we do, the daily grind and injuries and reminders, it's wearing on your wall, man. And if that caves…" He shook his head.

"What about Eve?" Sam stammered, because his brain was stuck on Dean wanting to _retire_. "What about Battleground: Heaven?"

Dean shrugged. "Not like Cas's letting us help too much with that one. And why is Eve our job, anyway, huh? Why isn't it someone else's turn to save the world?" Another step closer, less than a foot now between them. "There are, what, a hundred, two hundred hunters out there? Let one of them take it. We gave at the office already."

Sam took in the sight of his brother, a man who knew no other life, offering to chuck it all for him. And the uncertainty and worry of those last few days gave way to a rush of humble gratitude.

He stepped down from the porch.

"This isn't about duty, man, or revenge, or guilt," he said earnestly. "Maybe it was once, but now? It's just about the family business."

Dean's face was twisted with conflict. "It doesn't have to be."

"You're right, it doesn't. And one day, I hope it won't be. But right now, right here? We can do this. I'm not sure about all the other hunters out there, but you and me? We've faced bigger than this and won. And we can do it again."

"Your wall—"

"—isn't any different than you with your deal hanging over us, or me with my shining, or you with Michael whispering in your ear," Sam argued. "I get that you're worried, Dean, I do. But we've had the clock ticking on us so many times, I can't even remember not hearing it. And we beat it, every time. This is just another stacked deck, man."

Dean gave the barest ghost of a laugh, his eyes somber. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah," Sam said, just as seriously. "I am." His mouth tilted up. "And I promise I'll be good, Mom, and quit scratching and trying to remember, all right?"

Dean stared at him a moment longer, then shook his head. "Woulda been a miracle if we'd gotten approved for a home loan, anyway," he muttered, shouldering past Sam and up onto the porch.

"Does Ms. Pink Cadillac know you're legally dead?" Sam followed him.

"Robert Villa isn't," Dean shot back over one shoulder as he went inside.

Sam groaned. "You didn't." A beat. "You did."

"Hey, unless you wanna end up in a place like this—"

"_I heard that!"_

"Sorry, Bobby," they chorused.

"—without even a picket fence, and, dude, they have these rooms in some houses called 'man caves'…"

Sam was smiling as he shut the door behind them.

**The End**


End file.
